


a work in progress

by zauberer_sirin



Series: Things We Said [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drunkenness, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Happy, Relationship Issues, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5298524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>11. things you said when you were drunk</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	a work in progress

She never gets drunk.

It's a control thing, Coulson realizes after a while – there are lots of control things when it comes to Daisy, from the way she likes being on top when they have sex, to the way she overprepares for missions, to the way she swallows ugly words when she doesn't want the world to see she's hurting.

He doesn't drink that much either but he finds Daisy's reluctance to go over two glasses curious, strict. He only really notices when they become involved.

"With my powers? Maybe it's dangerous," she deflects.

He jokes about Simmons doing some tests on that, if she wants.

"I get sad when I drink too much," she tells him on another occassion, pushing the glass away.

"Yeah, me too," Coulson makes his own confession. But Daisy has seen him drunk, that's the difference.

"Drinking too much makes me talk," she tells him another time.

"Ah," and he understands that, Daisy and her careful choice of words, Daisy and her careful charged silences. She wouldn't like that. That's part of the control thing. 

Coulson can't help but be interested. He knows Daisy well and he no longer considers lovers to be puzzles to be solved, but he still doesn't know all the details.

The first time he sees her drunk, properly drunk, is on the night of her 29th birthday. Technically no longer her birthday, but still. They were out on a mission all day – a hard one, a complicated not entirely satisfactory mission, with the press meddling more than usual – and as soon as they were back in Coulson's office she went straight for the drawer with the scotch bottle inside. 

"That's unusual," he comments.

"Learning the old SHIELD traditions," Daisy says as she pours for him as well.

"Not a tradition I wanted you to learn," he mutters, remembering the good bad old days, remembering fucking John Garrett of all people, who would blackout in every post-op and people would love him for it. 

"Relax, Phil," she says, sitting by his side. "I just want to have a drink, take a shower, and get back up from the beating we took today, okay?"

Coulson nods. It's no like he is in any position to criticize her coping mechanism. His tend to be dramatic and involve not speaking to Daisy and collaborating with the enemy. She's right, and he doesn't mind the low level pleasing feeling of companionship here. It's what works best about being lovers on top of colleagues: these moments at the end of the day, when they are exhausted and surviving and leaning on each other's shoulders.

Daisy downs two glasses in perfect silence.

Only then they proceed to dissect the day's failures, regroup and lay out plans for the future. He listens to her voice loosen up as the evening progresses. Her voice starts sounding more like it did when he first met her, when she was Skye accepting a ride in Lola and going through the Bus like a ghost – which mean, her voice sounds less like herself and more like she's acting.

Then Daisy gets bored of mission talk and snakes her hand up Coulson's leg, aggressively.

She's drunk, he notices, amused at the novelty.

"That's not very subtle," he says.

"I don't like subtle," Daisy replies, gritted teeth like a force confession, and withdrawing the offer.

"I'm learning a lot about you tonight," Coulson comments. Though this one isn't new. Daisy hates subtle – she needs straightforward and clear.

"That's why I didn't want to get drunk in front of you," she tells Coulson.

"Aw," he says. The liquor tastes sweet and he's a bit drunk too, he suddenly realizes. He takes Daisy's fingers clumsily in his hand. "I hope that wasn't the problem. The _in front of me_ part."

"What? That I might want you to see me only at my best?"

Coulson frowns. He had spent _years_ trying to impress Daisy, even when he didn't know he was doing it.

"I don't like that," he says.

The idea that there are parts of herself Daisy fears he won't like.

"What?"

"I don't want you to... hide."

"I don't." She thinks about it. "At least I _try_ not to. With you. We're a work in progress."

She smiles. Coulson likes that. The idea that they work at it. That being in love is the starting point. He's an old sap – even more so when he drinks, he wasn't lying about getting sad, although he's not sad very often these days – but he likes the image of him and Daisy building something together.

"How's your metabolism handling this?" he asks, curious about the Inhuman side of things.

"Let's find out." Daisy stretches over the desk and grabs the bottle again.

He looks at her a bit worried, though he can't really talk himself.

Her voice. He loves every intonation and suddenly he's hearing new ones. The easy, slurred confessional tone. She talks faster when she drinks, she talks slower.

"It was my birthday yesterday," she seems to remember.

"Yes."

"I'm glad we were on the field for the whole of it," she adds. "Don't like thinking about it."

"I know," Coulson whispers, pensive.

They have pushed back the celebration a week, Daisy saying she'd rather do something for Coulson's birthday, if that was okay with him. He would have liked to give her the gift he bought today, but he wants to respect her wishes. Maybe eventually, when her parents' deaths are further behind, she'll accept her date of birth more painlessly, it wouldn't be such a reminder.

Coulson stops drinking before she does, trying to avoid tomorrow's hangover. When she gets up to go to their room she stumbles a bit, "Well, I get that answers it about my metabolism," she says and Coulson loops his arm around her and helps her walk. She's done this for him before but it's funny – Daisy is probably the most powerful being on earth, Coulson thinks, and here she is needing help to get to her quarters.

It's also a good thing the Playground is practically deserted at this our – it would do no good if people were to see their fearless Inhuman leader stumbling through the hallways. It would break Joey's heart for one, as Coulson is pretty sure the man believes Daisy invented sliced bread.

"What about my shower?" Daisy asks when they get to the room they share. "I told you I wanted a shower."

"You still want to take a shower?"

She nods solemnly. 

And well, maybe it's not the greatest idea but Coulson is practically sober again and they still have to wash the day's sweat off their bodies, after all. Daisy stands patiently in the middle of the bathroom, wiggling her toes on the tiled floor, as Coulson peels the sturdy uniform off of her. It's curiously non-sexual for once, because on her own maybe Daisy wouldn't be able to manage. It's nothing new – Daisy herself has helped him out of his torn and bloodied clothes when he was too hurt to do it himself. Now her body is all soft and light in his arms. 

She wolf-whistles when Coulson himself undresses and she laughs when the water hits her face once they're both in the shower.

"I thought the giggling phase was _before_ the actual drunkeness," Coulson protests.

"Shut up and kiss me," she says, touching her thumb to the hollow of his neck.

The bossiness has nothing to do with her being intoxicated, it's normal between them.

They have both drunk too much for anything other than minutes and minutes of sloppy kissing with open mouths while the warm water falls on them. Coulson keeps wrapping his hands around Daisy's waist in case she loses her footing. They touch each other lightly and it's just nice even if it amounts to nothing. Coulson takes Daisy's short hair in his hands and washes it consciously, pushing the shampoo out with his fingers. She moans comfortable at the sensation and lets out a couple of drunken love declarations Coulson is not sure he has to blame on the scotch or the warm shower but he will take them anyway.

"Now you," she says, and proceeds to try to wash Coulson's hair with mixed results – shampoo in his eyes making him cry like he is a kid, Daisy laughing at him for it, then kissing his eyelids in conciliation. "At least you don't have that much hair."

"I'm not sure I like drunken you," he tells her.

"Too bad," she says, leaning against him carefully and kissing him. She tastes of shampoo too, it's messy and wonderful.

He comandeers her out of the shower with firm hands on her shoulders.

"I like it when you do this," she tells him when he puts a towel over her head and starts drying off her hair. "When you take care of me. But I'm not sure I should tell you," she says and Coulson knows what she meant when she said she didn't like the way alcohol made her talk. "I don't want you to feel like you _have_ to take care of me just because – because..."

"Because what?" Coulson asks, lightly, as he brushes the towel against her shoulder.

"Because you're the first one," she sighs, pressing her hand against his wrist. 

He doesn't say anything to that, just keeps pressing the towel gently to her body. He's not going to take advantage of the fact she's drunk to get a reading on their relationship. He trusts her to tell him the important stuff when and if she wants to. He trusts her.

She's still slightly drunk when she gets under the sheets, wrapped in his robe and Coulson tucks her in diligently.

"I'm happy," she says, grabbing him by the waist so that he'll sit on the bed with her. Which is a strange thing to say after a hard day of almost everything going wrong out there in the field.

But Coulson knows what she means by that. Happiness is not what he thought it would be, back when he had given up on the concept. It's quieter and deeper and more complicated than he imagined.

"I told you, I talk too much when I drink," Daisy laments, pressing her cheek against the pillow.

"You don't want me to know you're happy?" he asks.

He strokes her hair, a bit sad if that's true.

Daisy lifts her hand and scratches the back of Coulson's lightly.

"No, I... I'm just afraid of what happens if I believe it's permanent," she says.

He feels like an asshole. Here he was worrying about her trying to hide stuff from him, and she's just afraid of losing whatever shred of joy she might have in her life like she always does.

Coulson draws his hand across each cheek, like he's comforting her. Her face feels hot and looks a nice shower-pink color. Daisy, whom he always thinks about as bigger than life, looks small under the covers and hugging her knees.

"Well, _I_ think it's permanent," Coulson tells her, bending down to kiss her cheek. "Trust me."

She stares out at him. Maybe she doesn't trust him on that just yet, but Coulson is hopeful, he'll keep working until the day she does.

"I warned you about Drunken Daisy. You are learning so many things about me," she says.

"All _good_ things," Coulson tells her, touching his lips to hers. The sweet scent of scotch is almost gone, there's only her familiar taste.. "Except when you put shampoo in my eyes," he adds. "I didn't like that."


End file.
